


Run Away With Me

by wordcraze



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Class Differences, M/M, Rich Harry
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-02-13
Updated: 2016-02-13
Packaged: 2018-05-19 07:12:22
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,924
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5958379
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wordcraze/pseuds/wordcraze
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry comes from a wealthy family, and Zayn lives on the other side of town, barely making ends meet. What happens when their two worlds collide?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Run Away With Me

 

> _Let me be your ride out of town_  
>  _Let me be the place that you hide_  
>  _We can make our lives on the go_  
>  _Run away with me_

Harry is not sure how long he’s been out on his balcony, but it’s dark when he wakes.  _The Giver_  is laying open on his lap, so he shuts it, and he goes back into his room. He walks out, and down the long hallway, noting how eerily silent the large house is. Not that it’s anything out of the ordinary. His parents are constantly away, either on business trips, or vacation. This time, it’s the latter. He opted out of it, preferring to stay home after a busy school year. And anyway, he was never a fan of his mother and father’s constant need for a strict and precise schedule, even when they’re on vacation.

He makes his way downstairs, and across the large expanse of the living room, then into the kitchen. The cook’s not here. No one is. Harry’s not much of a fan of having people wait on him, but his parents believe it’s a luxury they deserve. So when they left for vacation, Harry had excused everyone in the house, and allowed them to go home, promising that they’d still be paid.

But it gets a little lonely, and that’s the only thing Harry doesn’t like much about being home. The sad part is, he’s gotten used to it.

\- - - 

He’s tipsy with vodka that had slowly creeped up on him, hitting when he least expected it. But he’s glad to be out of the house, even if it’s to be at a party with privileged rich kids, sipping on cocktails, and doing coke in the bathrooms. The only person he genuinely likes around here is Liam. He volunteers at the library with Harry when they’re home and have a bit of free time.

Someone catches Harry’s eye. Most of the crowd are the usual suspects, so there’s really no one around that interests him, but suddenly, there’s someone new. This new boy doesn’t look like anyone in this town. His clothes aren’t anything like Harry’s seen on these other kids. They’re faded and tattered, and he’s got tattoos, which Harry can see on his arm, and peeking out on his chest beneath his shirt. He’s so beautiful, and Harry almost can’t look at him straight. It’s almost like staring into the sun.

“Who’s that?” Harry whispers to Liam.

Liam turns to see where he’s looking, “Oh hey, I know him. I set him up with a library card a couple days ago.”

“Can you not stop there?”

“Wow, rude. Anyway, his name’s Zayn Malik, I think. He lives on the other side of town.”

Harry knows that what Liam really means is that this new boy lives on the less fortunate side of town. And that shouldn’t matter, but he knows that to everyone else, it does. It’s a miracle that Zayn has ended up here at this party, in a house much grander than Harry’s, if that’s even possible. But he notices the way that there’s a group of people surrounding Zayn, like they’re drawn to him, and to whatever he’s saying. Even from afar, Harry can feel it.

And it’s like Zayn senses him, so he turns his head, and for the briefest of moments, they lock eyes. Harry’s cheeks burn, like Zayn had caught him in some intimate moment, so he quickly looks away, then mumbles to Liam about needing to refill his drink. He weaves through the crowd of people, and he heads toward the refreshment table. Harry stares at his options in front of him before picking up a bottle of Malibu.

“Now before you continue…” he hears a voice behind him, and when he turns, he finds himself facing Zayn. “You’ve got to find that delicate balance between Malibu and fruit punch to make your drink outstanding. May I?”

All Harry can do is stare, completely bewildered that Zayn is actually speaking to him. He nods, and steps aside. Zayn approaches the table, takes a clean cup, and pours a mixture of Malibu and fruit punch, making a show of being precise. When he finishes, he hands it to Harry. 

He takes a sip, and replies with a very smooth, “Um, it’s good.”

Zayn smiles, and Harry feels himself die a little inside. “My name’s Zayn.”

“I’m Harry.”

“Can I make a confession, Harry?”

Harry starts to fidget, “Y-Yeah, sure.”

Zayn refills his cup with just fruit punch, and he takes a sip. “I saw you on Main Street reading  _The Giver_. I might have followed you for a few minutes.”

“Might have?”

“Alright, I did.”

Harry takes a big gulp of his drink in an attempt to calm his nerves. This can’t be happening. Something like this has never happened to him. Nobody like Zayn would ever take notice of him. “Why did you, um… why did you–”

“Follow you?” Zayn interrupts. “I liked your book. I also liked how you looked while reading it. You were completely absorbed. First time picking it up?”

“No,” Harry is feeling so light and euphoric by this point, and it’s a feat he’s not throwing himself at Zayn. “I read it at least once every year. I just don’t get sick of it.”

Zayn nods, and there’s a faint smile on his lips like he knows the feeling. “Do you wanna take a walk?”

It takes Harry every fiber of his being not to exclaim  _Yes!_  and he ends up saying, “I don’t know, I’m not sure if I should leave Liam.”

“He’s a big boy. He can take care of himself,” Zayn then sets down his cup on the table, and turns to walk without looking back, like he just expects Harry to follow him.

Which of course, he does.

\- - - 

They’re making their way down the quiet street, and Harry is still quite nervous. He hasn’t had much experience when it comes to… what even was this? Romance? That’s a joke. They’d just met, and he knows better not to emotionally throw himself at someone, but he’s drunk, and Zayn is beautiful. 

“When did you move into town?” Harry asks, in an attempt to make normal conversation.

“About a week and a half ago. My apartment is still pretty much empty. Better than being back home though.”

“Why’d you move?”

Zayn wrinkles his nose, then shoves his hands in his pockets. “I didn’t really live up to my family’s expectations. Sounds pretty cliche, doesn’t it? Fleeing from overbearing parents.” He chuckles dryly, and his smile fades. “You should never feel like you owe people something, even if they are family. You don’t belong to anyone but yourself.”

Harry understands it all too well, and he feels a little warmth in his chest that someone is feeling the exact same thing. Someone who has the courage to break away from it. He looks up in time to see that they’ve reached the front gate of his property. 

“Ah crap. We’ve walked so far,” Harry places his hand on the gate, then looks at Zayn. “You want to come in?”

Zayn looks hesitant as he studies the sight in front of him, looking past the gate, towards the road leading up to the giant mansion. “Um. I don’t know.”

Harry smiles, then pushes the gate open. “It’s fine. No one’s home. My parents are out for another two weeks. And I’m not sure how you’d get back to town now. I’d drive you, but I’m sort of seeing double.”

“Are you currently seeing two of me?”

“Sort of. But it’s not bad.”

Zayn laughs, “Are you flirting with me, Harry?”

Harry’s cheeks turn bright red, and he quickly turns away from him, and starts to walk down the road to the house. He clears his throat, “Uh, well, come on.” He watches Zayn through the corner of his eye, and notices the way his jaw tenses a little as they near the house. Harry unlocks the door, steps inside, and flicks on the lights. He hears Zayn inhale sharply beside him.

“Fuck,” the boy murmurs. He takes in the sight of the chandelier hanging from the high ceiling, and the winding staircase. “I’ve never been in a place like this. I mean, the house back at the party was different, it wasn’t so… personal, I guess?”

They walk past the front room, and into the family room, eliciting another “Fuck” from Zayn. Harry leads him to the kitchen, and he grabs the kettle so he could start heating up some tea.

“Settle down, you drunken fool,” Zayn says affectionately, and takes the kettle from him. “I’ll do it. Just point out where the tea, and the cups are.”

Harry clumsily hops up on the counter, and points to where everything is, then watches Zayn make the tea. “I can drive you back tomorrow. You can stay in one of the guest rooms.”

Zayn pours the the hot water into the mugs, and lets the tea sit. “It’s fine. I can call a cab or something.”

“No, you can stay. I insist. You followed me down Main Street, and now you get to sleep over.”

Zayn just rolls his eyes. “Cheeky. Now drink your tea before it gets cold.”

\- - - 

After Harry makes sure Zayn is all settled in the guest room, he goes into his own room, and collapses on the bed. There’s something so exciting about having Zayn a few doors down, and Harry feels a rush at the thought of possibly sneaking into his room. Which is dumb because it’s not sneaking, as there’s no one around to catch him. And throwing himself at someone after one night just isn’t something he does.

As he lays there with his thoughts, he suddenly hears his door creaking open. Harry turns, and he sees Zayn’s silhouette by the door. He walks over to the bed, then sits down on it.

“I forgot to tell you something.”

Harry pushes himself up a little, and before he can ask what it is, Zayn takes a hold of his face, pulls him in, and kisses him. He tastes like mint, with a hint of cigarettes, and Harry wants more. He clutches on to the front of Zayn’s shirt to pull him closer, and deepen the kiss, but Zayn places his hands on his shoulders, then pulls back.

“You’re cute,” Zayn says, tapping Harry’s nose. “Go to sleep.” Then he stands up, and leaves the room. 

\- - - 

When Harry drops Zayn off at his apartment, they kiss again, and Zayn has to be the one to break it because Harry is so eager.

“More of that later, yeah?” Zayn touches his cheek before getting out of the car. And Harry feels a heaviness in his chest when he leaves, and he curses himself because he’s so invested already. It’s a little crazy of him, but this has never happened before, and he’s not sure how to slow himself down. The logical side of him says not to raise his hopes, but Harry’s on such a high, he pushes those thoughts aside.

Lucky for him, that’s not the last time they see each other. Zayn gets a job at the local grocery store, then manages to get a beat up pickup truck that makes too much noise, but it suffices. They go to the movies, or share food at the diner, and sometimes, they drive down to the lake, lay in the bed of the truck, and look at the stars. Zayn makes up stories about what could possibly be in space; maybe an alien planet with vast technology that occasionally visits earth, or maybe a planet inhabited by mice. Harry listens to him, loving the sound of his voice, and all the stories he shares, real or imaginary. 

“I want to go to space with you,” Harry says, rolling over on his side to face him. “We could steal a rocket, find a nice planet with oxygen, and live in a little cottage next to a lake of molten lava or something.”

Zayn laughs. “Next to a lake of molten lava? I don’t think so. You’re so clumsy, you’d fall in, and I’d have to dive in after you.” He strokes Harry’s curls gently. “We’ll live on a planet that has a forest of giant flowers, and small trees. Nothing dangerous for you to fall into.”

“You’d really run away to another planet with me?”

“Yeah,” Zayn says quietly. “I’d go anywhere with you.”

\- - - 

The day Harry unloads all of his frustration to Zayn, they’re laying down beneath the large weeping willow on his property. 

“I feel like I shouldn’t even be allowed to express my problems because I shouldn’t have any,” Harry plucks at the grass. “I’ve got all this privilege, so it’s easy for other people to brush it aside like it’s nothing. I don’t know. It’s not easy to do what I want, or go where I want because I’ve got to live up to certain expectations.”

“Remember what I told you the day we met?” Zayn asks. “You don’t belong to anyone but yourself.”

“I wish it was that easy. For some, it is. For me, it’s not. It’s all about circumstance.” 

Zayn rolls over on his stomach, and props himself up with his elbows. He doesn’t say anything, and just stares down at him. His fingers brush against Harry’s forehead, and he leans in to kiss him. 

There’s a light breeze, and it feels good on this warm summer day. They can hear the willow’s branches rustling above them, and they feel the sun’s rays on their skin. It’s perfect, and Harry wants to stay like this. But Zayn pulls back from the kiss, and Harry can tell there’s something troubling him.

“What is it?”

Zayn bites his lip, and lays back down. “Sometimes I think about what might change when your parents get back. And I realize how completely different you and I are.”

Harry quickly sits up. “No. If you’re thinking about leaving me, you can’t do that.”

“Relax,” Zayn sits up too, and he gently takes Harry’s face between his hands. “Leaving you has never occurred to me. But you can’t tell me you’ve never thought about our differences.”

Harry lowers his eyes, and scrunches up his nose. He has thought about it, but it wasn’t really important to him. He understands how certain things in society work, but not once has he been embarrassed of being seen with Zayn, or thought about giving him up. But he has thought about the reaction of his parents, and it’s not something he’s looking forward to. He felt a great deal of relief when they had called to alert him of a week extension of their vacation.

So he doesn’t answer him. He just leans in, wraps his arms around his waist, and nuzzles into his neck. He hears Zayn sigh before lifting his arms to hold him firmly.

\- - - 

Zayn integrates himself seamlessly into Harry’s crowd, and it’s quite easy to do since nobody but the older generation really cares about the wealth and status of someone else. Everyone likes him. They enjoy his conversation, and how cultured he is, and if anyone is uncomfortable with his relationship with Harry, they don’t say anything. 

Harry likes holding Zayn’s hand in front of everyone. He likes it when they’re at a party, and Zayn whispers something in his ear, then kisses him after. He swells with pride because out of everyone here, Zayn chose him. It’s a good feeling to be someone’s first choice. 

“Back to the scene of the crime,” Zayn smirks when they go to refill their drinks at the refreshment table. 

Harry laughs, as he recalls the first night with Zayn, and how nervous he’d been. He  _still_  gets nervous around Zayn, but it’s the good kind of nerves. The kind of nerves he can’t get enough of, and he holds on to that feeling, cherishes it because it’s so new. And Harry thinks it’s always going to feel new with Zayn.

They walk back to Harry’s house the same way they did that first night. Except this time, Zayn says, “I love you.” And it makes Harry’s heart soar. 

\- - - 

They’re walking down Main Street hand in hand talking animatedly about a book they had read together, and just finished. Harry is laughing, and he tugs Zayn in for a kiss.

“Harry!”

The familiar voice causes him to jerk back from Zayn, and he feels his heart drop to his stomach. He turns his head to see his mother and father pull up their car to the sidewalk. The shock and anger on his mother’s face is enough to turn his blood cold, and he’s forced to let go of Zayn’s hand.

“Harry, get in the car,” she says.

Harry gives Zayn a pleading look before quickly getting into the backseat.

\- - - 

Zayn knew this would happen. He had tried to trick himself into thinking it would just be him and Harry, always, in the bed of his truck, lazily kissing in his room, or beneath the weeping willow. But reality will always claim them, and keep them prisoners.

What should he expect? He can’t expect another outcome but this one. As he looks around his small apartment with nothing but a mattress on the floor, he knows this is as good as it can get for him. What can someone like him possibly give to Harry?

Two days later, and Zayn is getting worse with each passing second. Since meeting Harry, he has never gone more than a few hours away from him, and he’s at a complete loss on what to do. The absence makes him frantic, and he can hardly concentrate at work. A part of him wants to storm the gate, and to tell Harry’s parents to fuck off, but obviously that won’t be the most brilliant of solutions.

But he does go to Harry’s house, and he sneaks past the gate, and across the lawn. Through the windows, he sees that all the lights are off except for the one in Harry’s room, so he picks up a few pebbles a moves closer. He starts tossing them, one by one, hitting the window, and it makes him feel ridiculous because he never thought he’d resort to throwing rocks at a window like something out of a teen drama.

He sees Harry go to the window, and open it. The boy’s eyes widen, and a big smile spreads across his face before melting into a smaller, sadder one. “Zayn,” he whispers. 

Zayn takes a step back, studying the wall leading up to Harry’s balcony, and the easiest way to scale it. When he thinks he’s got it all planned, he starts to climb. He hears a gasp from above, followed by a hushed, “Are you crazy?” but he ignores it until he finally reaches the balcony.

Harry pulls him to safety, and he throws his arms around him, pressing kisses to his cheek, and murmuring how sorry he is.

“My parents are home,” Harry says in between kisses. 

Zayn takes a hold of Harry’s hand, pulls him into the room, and leads him to the bed. They fall back against the pillows, and they’re kissing desperately, and feverishly, making up for lost moments. 

Harry moans into the kiss, and Zayn pulls back, then clamps a hand over Harry’s mouth. “Can you be quiet for me, babe?” he whispers while undoing Harry’s jeans with nimble fingers. 

\- - - 

“Let’s run away,” Harry says. His skin is damp and flushed, and he’s pressed against Zayn’s side. He knows it’s not just the bliss talking because it’s something he’s been thinking about for a while. He doesn’t care if it’s crazy.

“You don’t mean that,” Zayn replies, and it’s the answer Harry is expecting, but it won’t stop him.

“But I do. And it’s not just a heat of a moment thing. I’ve never felt more free than I have with you. And I’ve also never felt more safe. Freedom and safety from the same person isn’t something everyone has the luxury of. But I’m lucky enough to have it.”

“Harry, you need to really think about this.”

“But I have,” Harry’s brows narrow. “Weren’t you the one who told me that I don’t belong to anyone but myself? You left home too, didn’t you? Why can’t I?”

Zayn sighs, “It’s different. I was responsible for my own self. I can’t take you away, and have it be a decision that you’ll eventually regret. I don’t want to do that to you.”

Harry rolls over on top of Zayn, and kisses him. “Being with you will never be a decision I’ll regret.” He gets out of bed, then tosses Zayn his clothes. “In three days, I want you to be outside the gate at 5 am. It’s enough time to get our things sorted. We’ll go somewhere else, we’ll start over. We’ll take care of each other.”

“Harry–”

“Go,” Harry points to the window. “If you love me, you’ll be back in three days.”

With Harry giving absolutely no room for further argument, Zayn is forced to get dressed, and sneak out the window.

\- - - 

Harry avoids his parents as much as possible, and he makes them think he’s spending all his free time volunteering at the library before coming back home to lock himself in his room. He lets them think they’ve gotten the best of him. 

He knows the consequences of leaving, and it will most likely result in him getting cut off. So he withdraws all his money, and closes his account, then puts the cash in a suitcase. No one in the house suspects anything, so he goes about his packing until finally, it’s the evening of the second day.

There’s a good possibility that Zayn won’t show up. Harry knows Zayn has got a very logical side, and this whole plan is completely insane, and can blow up in their faces. But it could also work. And it could be the best thing that has ever happened to them.

The sky lightens, but the sun has not risen yet. Harry’s heart is hammering in his ears, and he tip toes downstairs with his bags in tow. He wants, with every fiber of his being, for Zayn to be there. He needs to know that he has the support of the most important person in his life, and that this particular person also wants to share his freedom, and his future. 

When he gets to the gate, Zayn isn’t there. Harry feels nauseous. He lets go of his suitcases, and he sits on top of them with his hands folded on his lap. Minutes pass, and still no sign of Zayn. He wants to cry in defeat, and to scold himself for getting his hopes up. But just as he’s about to stand, and walk back to the house, he hears the familiar sound of a noisy engine.

Tears spring to his eyes when Zayn pulls up in front of the gate. Harry’s heart pounds with adrenaline, and he grabs his suitcases, then walks to the truck. He should have never doubted Zayn, not for one second. Zayn rolls down his window, and he smiles. 

“Get in.”

\- - - 

 

> _We’ll be on the road like Jack Kerouac_  
>  _Looking back_  
>  _– You’re ready let’s go_  
>  _Anywhere_  
>  _Get the car packed and throw me the key_  
>  _Run away with me_


End file.
